


Strawberry Season

by aphrodionysus



Category: Les Miserables, Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Not Beta Read, Romantic Fluff, Secret Relationship, Undefined Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 21:32:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodionysus/pseuds/aphrodionysus
Summary: Jehan began to think about those unexpected words, biting his lower lip, trying to suppress a smile. Oh, Courfeyrac loved it…





	Strawberry Season

**Author's Note:**

> "Strawberry season" phrase is a reference to Clarice Lispector's The Hour of the Star.

**STRAWBERRY SEASON**

**\- - -**

It was the middle of Spring. The air seemed crisper and sweeter in that afternoon, and the sun was gentle with the delicate flowers that filled the wild, untouched fields. In the crystalline stream, dragonflies flew over kissing the running waters. Protected by the illuminated corner of the placid hill, Courfeyrac was lying on a huge towel with his good friend, the gentle poet Jean Prouvaire. Or Jehan, as he preferred to be called.

When there was just the two of them together, Courfeyrac would risk calling him "love” instead.

Although he lamented every day that they weren’t yet free to express to the world what they felt, it was comforting the feeling of being himself when only Jehan was there with him. There was in that little poet more empathy, kindness, compassion, and love than any other person he had ever known. Jehan Prouvaire conveyed hope to Courfeyrac.

What a gloomy world that was, a world that would judge the growing tenderness in his chest, his adoration for the person at his side and those charming brown eyes, that freckled skin like stars scattered across the sky, those precious rosy lips and that beautiful hair that shone brighter than the Sun itself. No feeling in his chest was unclean or vulgar. He knew that. Of no other thing he was more convinced. Courfeyrac loved his friend, his lover, his soul mate. And that afternoon and that field were theirs alone.

Courfeyrac silently watched the clouds slowly roaming in the sky. He closed his eyes, delighted with the frequent breezes from the woods where lonely leafy trees swayed the branches as if to please him. Prouvaire, by his side, was concentrated, lying on his back, reading a book, in a language that Courfeyrac couldn’t understand, looking like he was oblivious to the little piece of paradise that surrounded them.

Or at least that's what he wanted it to look like. In fact, Jehan was attentive to the singing birds, just as he’d noticed a butterfly passing through them majestically and as he knew, even without taking his eyes off the page, that Courfeyrac was smiling because the cloud he had seen looked inexplicably like a cat.

"You'd agree if you were looking at this!” Courfeyrac said, turning his head to face him.

“It’s the third cat cloud you talk about in the past hour, they can’t all be shaped like cats, Courf.”

“Yes, they can! Heaven is ruled by cats, it is known!”

He always paid attention to Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac and his perfect hair and his smooth skin and his eyes that reminded Jehan of the Mediterranean Sea. How gracious of the gods to reserve for a mere young mortal poet the most beautiful of all creatures.

There was a clear sign that he wouldn’t read another paragraph that afternoon, so Jehan closed the book and did the same, lying on his side, mimicking his lover's pose. He didn’t stare him in the eye and yet, just because he was so close to him, his cheeks were already flushed, courtesy of his adorable shyness.

“How could I fall for someone as ridiculously candid as you?”

“If that's your way of calling me an angel, I loved it.”

Jehan rolled his eyes, taking his hand, letting their palms press against each other.

Courfeyrac was the one who leaned first towards him.

Their mouths drew near each other, half open, Jehan's trembling hand then holding his beloved friend's face with incomparable sweetness, nothing more important to him than to take Courfeyrac's breath away and getting lost in his lips and the warmth of his hand, pressing Jehan’s body against his as his life depended on it.

Courfeyrac trembled, even though he was eager to please him, pressing himself closer against Jehan, moaning muffled by his lips. He accepted every caress and every sigh as if it were the first time someone touched him. It wasn’t, far from that. It wasn’t even the first time they kissed, yet he felt more wanted than ever. Courfeyrac's hand slid daringly over Jehan's covered body, both panting heavily, wanting more and more, until one rolled on top of each other, searching for more contact. The towel, dirty with grass and leaves curled around them, trapping Jehan over Courfeyrac, causing the two to interrupt their kisses to laugh at themselves.

“Jehan” Courfeyrac uttered the poet's name, which echoed in his ears like lute music. Jehan felt trapped in him on a plane of existence where nothing else was important, except for the two of them and their still mixed breaths and heart beats.

“Yes?” Jehan whispered, caressing his dark hair, curling his fingertips into his curls.

“I know it may be impossible at the moment, but I’d like to at least verbalize what I desire, because you know, love, if it isn’t with you, it won’t be with anyone else. Jehan… Jean… Dearest… Would you marry me?”

Jehan began to think about those unexpected words, biting his lower lip, trying to suppress a smile. Oh, Courfeyrac loved it… There was a short moment of silence, and then Jehan unhurriedly kissed the corner of Courfeyrac's mouth.

“If it were possible, right now, right here, I’d allow you to make me the happiest person in the world, by agreeing to marry you.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes, it is.”

Faced with the thrilling positive response, Courfeyrac smiled happily, hugging Jehan tightly, rolling to the other side, to let go of the towel.

“So be it! The woods and the creek, the birds and the flowers, they’re our guests. The stones are witnesses. The field is our sacred temple and look…” Courfeyrac took the towel off the grass, shaking it a little, putting it on his own head. "One of us now has a veil."

Jehan laughed and put his hands between his, his gaze steady now, fixed in Courfeyrac’s eyes.

"Well, then... I take you for my lawful everlasting love, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health, until death do us part."

There was no ring, but Jehan lifted his lips to the back of his hand, pressing his lips there into a chaste kiss. A passionate sigh escaped from Courfeyrac, who took Jehan's hand into his, beginning his vows.

“And I take you for my lawful everlasting love, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health and not even death will take us apart.”

He kissed Jehan's hand, receiving an inquiring look in return.

"Death is inevitable, you know."

"I know, but it’s also inevitable that, no matter what happens, I’ll continue to come back to you… Oh, nevermind me… Let’s not be saddened by such thoughts now. What’s that thing you said at the Musain the other day? The phrase about a fruit that you said to make us remember to enjoy the evening.”

"It's still strawberry season" Jehan said.

"That’s the one, yes. You know what? In another life, our next marriage will be even more perfect."

"I know it will, but now we're still going to enjoy this one." and Jehan approached, sitting on his lap, holding the ends of the towel that covered Courfeyrac's head.

“Look at us, love… Getting married in the wild, next to the woods. Does that please your pagan gods?”

“I believe it does.” Jehan replied, flattered by the familiar singing of a nightingale in the distance.

“Jehan?”

“Yes?”

"Do you think it's too early for our honeymoon?"

Jehan answered the question by kissing him fervently.

They barely noticed the sun beginning to set, the twilight coloring their skins while they loved each other.

_It’s still strawberry season._ A simple phrase that means to enjoy, to live and breathe every moment before the season ends. And it was still the middle of Spring.

 

**\- - -**

**THE END**


End file.
